


Steel Soul

by missingkitsune



Category: Rurouni Kenshin
Genre: Gen, General fiction, fan fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 09:17:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missingkitsune/pseuds/missingkitsune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>an angsty little piece.</p>
<p>I do not own anything in the kenshin universe,  as much as I’d like too.  But sadly do not.  So all credit goes to Nobuhiro Watsuki.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Steel Soul

**Author's Note:**

> an angsty little piece.
> 
> I do not own anything in the kenshin universe, as much as I’d like too. But sadly do not. So all credit goes to Nobuhiro Watsuki.

The usual disclaimer:  I do not own anything in the kenshin universe,  as much as Id like too.  But sadly do not.  So all credit goes to Nobuhiro Watsuki.

 

Steel soul

 

      Smile, nod, wave. Smile, nod, wave.  I do as I am told.  Always listening to the man

 

In front of the procession.  I want to please him.  I honor his wishes

 

      He has made me feel useful.  Not just endless training day, after day.

 

      I need to help those like me, the ones who do not have the pleasure of riches and

 

privileges.  I eagerly do as he commands.

 

      One day he takes me aside and asks me a rather startling question.  "Kenshin I need

 

you to become a protector. I look at his calm face. "I need your sword to be my arm of 

 

justice."

 

      "I need you to kill, can you do that?"

 

      I nod, mildly shocked.  I am glad he has asked me personally to do this thing.  The

 

one thing master warned me about.

 

      There is a lump of sadness lodged in my throat, remembering how mad he had been

 

the day I left.  He turned his back to me, saying it was pointless to talk to a howling dog.

 

      How that rejection still stings.

  

      Sometimes I wonder if I should have stayed.  Master would have been happy, but I

 

would not.  I guess in some strange way I feel better that we are both miserable.

 

      I have no trouble killing.  The path of the sword is the path of death.  The sword is a 

 

tool that I use, making me an extension of the tool.  So I am also a tool.  An unfeeling,

 

lethal tool.

  

      My problem is I do feel, down in the deepest pits of my soul.  A little red headed boy

 

is looking back at me with tears staining his delicate face.

  

      I maintain my control of him. He dare not escape.  That is the old me.  I am no longer 

 

that miserable child.  I have a purpose.  I am a tool used to kill, nothing more then cold,

 

hard steel

.

      With each death I become swifter, a blur before death.  My soul hardening stronger. 

 

I must become harder then steel.

  

      The child in the pit cries harder with each death.  I shove him further down.  That

 

child, I need to keep him safe.  He just does not understand.  I have kept him hidden 

 

since I was sold to the slavers.  It seems my life was meant to be a tool of some kind.

  

      I surround him in softness, but still he cries.  I can no longer sleep because of the 

 

crying, from inside and outside. Ah well! a tool does not need things like sleep.

 

      Each passing year I grow stronger, harder, the child becoming a memory.  He makes

 

no sounds, at least I do not hear him.  I get a little peek once in awhile, but close him

 

back up.

 

      There is one point that he is able to sneak out.  I have been told to hide until further 

 

notice.  They send the woman that I saved to act as my wife.

  

      It is otherworldly how calm my life has become.  The child escapes and is pleased

 

with way things are going.  I need to keep a watchful eye on him.  The world still has

 

hidden dangers.

 

      Is this the way I could have been?  Happy, content, falling in love?  I still do not let 

 

my guard down all the way but allow my gentle side to prevail.  We can relax. Shinta and 

 

I come close to being one person.

 

       Again I feel the sting of rejection and this time betrayal is mixed in. 

 

        The child is in agony.  I must lock him away to protect him. 

 

        Do I kill her or do I forgive her and find happiness once again?

 

        I walk like death.  I am numb, hard steel fills me up.

 

        I am moving on impulse alone.

 

        I hear her cries over the clash of metal. 

 

        I feel her weight as she falls against me, dying.

  

        I have unwittingly killed my love, my soul shatters.

 

        I accept the touch of her blade on my face.  It is all I can do for her.  One small kiss

 

of death.

 

        I take her now lifeless body home, clean and dress her.  Ready for the death ritual.

 

        I want to die also. She would not like for me to do that, so I do not.  

 

        The boy and I are both in tears.

  

        How can anything mend such a broken soul?

 

        I have been asked to return to war.  I agree, but to my terms alone.

 

        Only I will know when that time is.  Or is it Shinta who will know?

 

        I find that I am walking in a strangely quiet world.  The cries of steel are a distant

. 

        The boy and I try to come to some agreement.  I have so much to make up for.

 

  Each night the spirits of the dead haunt me.  I must do what I can to help others.  My

 

atonement will not be easy.

 

        I have a long debate with myself about returning to my master.  I do not think it

 

would go well, so I do not travel that road.

 

        There is so much I can and need to do to begin to mend our soul.

 

        We have agreed I will protect and he will cherish.  Each suited for this task.

 

        He hides in the face of danger, and in return I let him play

. 

        He is still so child like.  His presence is like the brush of a butterflys wing.  Taking 

 

in all the wonders of the world. 

 

         We are becoming a part of each other.  

 

         Wide eyed Shinta and I, the former demon of Kyoto.


End file.
